


The Marauders' Guide to Winning Your Witch

by MrsRen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Advice, Detention, F/M, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts AU, No Voldemort, No character bashing, Prefect Harry Potter, Sexual Content, Some Good Advice, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Teenage Angst at the Most, Teenage Shenanigans, james and lily lived
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen
Summary: Hermione Granger's interesting. He's thought so since transferring to Hogwarts part-way through sixth year. When Harry gets the chance grow closer with her, he finds himself wishing the marauders would have started with all the ways not to win a witch. As it seems, Harry's got his work cut out for him. It'd help if he stopped going two steps backward with each step forward.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 122
Kudos: 395
Collections: Prompt Bank Garage Sale





	1. Stuck With the Likes of You

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [HarmonyandCo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmonyandCo/pseuds/HarmonyandCo) in the [PromptBankGarageSale](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PromptBankGarageSale) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Harry transfers to Hogwarts in sixth or seventh year and meets a lonely Hermione. Hermione didn’t even really know what she was missing until the handsome Harry Potter came in and decided that he was going to marry her.

**Hello. This is being written for the Harmony & Co Garage Sale Fest via the FB group where writers were invited to claim prompts. The story has been outlined, but I am posting as I write so I currently can't guarantee weekly updates, or even an update schedule.**

**My prompt was _Harry transfers to Hogwarts in sixth or seventh year and meets a lonely Hermione. Hermione didn't even really know what she was missing until the handsome Harry Potter came in and decided that he was going to marry her._ And I have taken liberty with the prompt to make it into a story I enjoy writing.**

**This story is a Hogwarts AU in which there is not Voldemort, James and Lily survived, and Harry got the childhood (and life) he deserved. All explanations for that will come in time.**

**Thank you to WordsmithMusings and NuclearNik for some killer work on this!**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

At ten o'clock—nearly on the dot—Harry managed to steer the Head Girl away from the Astronomy Tower. She shot him a dirty look, one that said _I know what you're doing_ , but she relented when a sound in the opposite direction popped off, and he could have sighed in relief.

He probably would have if it weren't for the sharp intake of breath from his patrol partner. "What is it?"

She held a finger to her lips and nodded down the corridor. "Hear that?"

It took a moment for him to recognize the sound with how low it was, but the footsteps couldn't be mistaken. Then a faint giggle drifted through the corridor. "I think I know who it is."

"Of course you do."

Before he could ask what _that_ was supposed to mean, Ron and Lavender rounded the corner. His friend stopped mid-step, and Lavender's laughter broke off as she stared at them. "You said you'd keep her away!" Ron blurted.

Even though Hermione didn't glare at him then, Harry knew it was only a matter of time before she laid into him for being irresponsible. Sure, Harry thought they could lay off sometimes—cut a little slack, he'd said, actually—but this was far from the first time Ron had broken curfew. "Thanks, mate." Harry rolled his eyes.

With her arms folded across her chest, Hermione stared at him, and he didn't miss the impatient way her flats snapped against the stone floor. "I'll let you handle the punishment on this one," she said smoothly. "It's only fair that we take turns, and I did dock Hufflepuff points for the first-years we caught earlier."

Relief settled on Ron's face, and Lavender managed to smile even.

Harry cursed under his breath, knowing just what she was doing. If he was going to be a good prefect, he would be fair to anyone, even if that person _was_ his friend. That was a conversation that had already been had between the two of them on their first time patrolling together and with this being the second time, Harry knew it was a test. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

He swallowed. "Each."

As far as punishments went, it was rather mild considering Harry knew what they'd been planning to do if they had gotten to the Astronomy Tower. Maybe Lavender had imagined they would look at the stars—somewhat—but everyone in the school knew you didn't go there for a pretty view.

Not of the sky at least.

Red tinged Ron's cheeks. "Harry!"

Hermione didn't say anything, and she didn't come to his aid.

"You got off easy," Harry said. "It's not that bad."

"You put us ten points behind Slytherin!" he spat before turning his ire on Hermione. "And _you_ just want to make him dock points so you can be in control because you hate—"

Allowing her arms to fall to her sides, Hermione tilted her head to the side. "What was that? I couldn't quite tell. If you're so concerned about your points, you shouldn't argue over a point deduction especially when it's due to the fact that _you_ broke curfew. If you put half as much effort into earning points as you do Quidditch or sneaking around, you would have them back in no time, but," she shrugged, "that's not on me."

Lavender gripped Ron's arm tightly and gasped.

"If you'd like to discuss it, I'm sure Professor McGonagall would love to do so in her office."

"You should get back to your dorms," Harry cut in, eying Ron's reddening face warily. He waited for them to get far enough away before he looked at her. "I let them off too easy."

She nodded, and a curtain of dark hair slipped over her shoulder. "It's not a surprise. Let's finish patrols."

"I didn't _want_ to." He hurried to keep up with her, even though his legs were longer than hers. "I didn't want to give my friend detention."

Harry expected for her to point out that he shouldn't be a prefect then, but she surprised him. "I understand."

"It's just—you do?"

They rounded the corner, and unless it was a trick of the light from a flickering torch, he would have sworn she was smirking. "I shouldn't have made you dock points."

It didn't particularly sound like her, he thought. "Why did you?"

"Doesn't matter."

Somehow, he doubted that.

When they finished their rounds an hour later, Harry fell into step beside her. "Hey, I needed to ask you if I could miss a night of patrol this week. On Saturday?"

Her lips pressed together, and Harry was well aware that he lingered on them. Luckily, she didn't notice though. "I'll ask Michael if he can cover your night. If he can't, I'll manage alone."

"And, uh, another thing." Harry stepped in front of her before she could issue the monthly password to the Fat Lady. "Do you know what page we were supposed to use for Arithmancy?"

Torches flickered in the corridor, catching in her hair and illuminating her. "Do you mean the assignment that's due tomorrow? First thing in the _morning_?"

"Er," he tugged his collar sheepishly. "Yeah. That's the one."

"I do know, but it's going to cost you. I've already given you one favour tonight."

He snorted. "I will get on my knees and beg you right now, Hermione."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "That really won't be necessary. You have a library book I need. _The Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood?_ I asked Madam Pince and it's been checked out since the start of term."

He knew the book she was talking about, and the last night he'd seen it, Ron had been using it as a coaster. "I can find it." Harry climbed through the portrait after muttering the password of _pygmy-puff_ and called over his shoulder, "Wait here."

Climbing the stairs two at a time, Harry pushed the door open quietly and searched around his bed. Just as he'd thought, he found the book on Ron's nightstand, and he was able to pull it out from under various treat wrappers while Ron slept.

Hermione was just where he'd left her, swaying slightly from side to side in front of the fireplace. She thanked him as he pressed the book into her hands. "Page 117 is the one you're looking for, by the way, and I'll let you borrow my notes if you like."

Apparently, she'd gone to her dorm at the same time he'd gone for the book.

"You're a lifesaver. Thank you."

She shot him a bright smile before climbing the stairs and leaving him to sort through his own assignment which would have taken hours if not for her.

* * *

The map crinkled between his fingers. "Just a bit more to the left, yeah?" he muttered, his tone edging more toward desperation at that point. _Sirius said it was right in here…_ Still, Harry didn't see a secret passage anywhere, and he began to wonder if Sirius was playing a ridiculous, ill-timed—not that his God Dog had any bearing on the timing—prank.

"There's nothing here." Ron frantically searched the wall, sliding his palms across it in the vain hope that a passage would miraculously open, but nothing happened. "I think we're in the wrong spot, or he's pulling your leg."

_Tail is more like it._

Heaving a sigh, Harry's shoulders dropped. "Looks like you're right. We'll have to wait for the next Hogsmeade weekend." Honestly, it was all so bloody absurd that while Harry had every recollection of ending up in the situation, he berated himself for allowing it to get so far.

Only Ron Weasley and his bottomless stomach—not that Harry could talk much on the topic—could have convinced him that it was a good idea to sneak out of Hogwarts and into Hogsmeade for fucking _chocolate._

_But not just any chocolate, Harry. It's Honeydukes, and you know that's the best._

And what was it all for?

Docking twenty— _twenty—_ measly points from his own house for his best mate's tendencies to canoodle his girlfriend after curfew.

His mother would kill him if she found out.

"What are we waiting for?" Hermione asked from behind them, one eyebrow arched as she looked between the two of them and then back again. "So, is this why you had to miss patrolling tonight?"

"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath, as he dragged his fingers through his hair. "No, we really _did_ have a last-minute Quidditch practice."

Whereas Ron thought the expression was utterly hilarious as her brows shot up and her lips parted, she didn't seem to agree. "It was important." Ron nodded as he said it, but her face remained stony.

For whatever reason, it made Harry think of how freely she'd smiled and laughed with him just a few nights earlier as she'd handed over her notes. The two memories were a stark comparison. "Oh, it must be terribly important to sneak out of the school," Hermione agreed. "Life-altering, even."

Harry didn't really believe the heavy sarcasm was lost on Ron, but the boy couldn't have chosen a worse moment to carry on with blind humour.

"See, she gets it. I told you that Ho—"

Each of them heard the echoing footsteps at the same time the wall shook behind them, sliding to the side and revealing a passageway. "Holy—"

Hermione bit her lip and took a step before shoving Ron backwards. He stumbled over his own two feet in surprise, and the wall slid back into place before he got a word out. "Not a word," she hissed. "Professor McGonagall."

The professor peered down at them over the rim of her glasses, the lines of her face not giving away any mirth. Although, according to his father, she was certainly capable of such a thing. "Mister Potter, Miss Granger. What are you doing in this part of the castle so late?"

The heel of Hermione's shoe squashed his toe, and he kept his face straight. "Patrolling, Professor McGonagall. We were just finishing up."

 _She's covering for me_.

God, his toes ached from the poor treatment she'd chosen to put him through, but at least his face wouldn't give them away.

"Is that so?"

Harry nodded.

McGonagall pushed her glasses up her nose, and her face soured. "Miss Granger, you left an updated patrol schedule on my desk yesterday afternoon. I'm well aware Mister Potter wasn't meant to patrol tonight since he asked to switch. In case you've forgotten, Mister Potter, you were required to let me know."

 _Fuck me sideways_.

It was a small, minuscule blessing he hadn't said that out loud.

"You'll serve three days of detention for sneaking out, Mister Potter. One night of detention will suffice for lying, Miss Granger. Since it was the first offense, ever."

The beginning of a disagreement formed on the tip of Hermione's tongue, and Harry took the chance to squish _her_ toes—only slightly—and he didn't make a show of hiding it.

"You should both be grateful I'm not going to dock points as well."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall."

Hermione glared at him and shoved past him once the professor had passed. The dramatic exit only made it even worse when he had to call out, "Wait, Hermione."

"Whatever your apology is, I don't care."

Harry held up his hands in surrender. "I have every intention of grovelling, but first we really need to get Ron out of the passage."

The Head Girl looked like she'd really rather not.

* * *

By a stroke of what could only be sheer luck—maybe even a miracle—they weren't instructed to scrub cauldrons in the dungeons. It was bad enough that his mother would be sure to have a conversation about his detention with him; she'd already caught his eye at breakfast from across the Great Hall.

Luck hadn't been completely on his side, however, when they were informed that the two of them were to organize the Herbology greenhouse. Harry arrived just minutes before Hermione, and she told him Professor Sprout had decided to leave them in order to grade.

"She's likely to pop in, though, to check on us." She busied herself with organizing a row of decorative ceramic pots while stepping over the creeping vines that lined the floor. "Professor Sprout believed we didn't need to be watched."

"Since you're the Head Girl, you mean."

With a scowl curving her lips, Hermione muttered, "Yes, that's why."

Harry set to cleaning the dirt from the counters, already wishing he could use magic without being caught. And he knew that he ought not to talk to his counterpart any more than he absolutely had to, but Harry couldn't help himself. "I'm sorry."

Hermione nodded but only began to scrub the side of the pot harder. Then she sighed, and Harry held his breath. "Why were you sneaking out?"

He hesitated.

"The least you could do after causing me to get detention is tell me why. I did cover for you, after all."

"You're not going to like it."

"I doubt there's any reason that I would like." She shrugged and set the first pot overhead. The side of it gleamed under the sallow light of the lantern that hung above them.

"I told Ron I'd make it up to him for docking points, and he wanted..." Harry could have withered under the glare she gave him. "Uh, chocolate. From Hogsmeade."

She blinked, her lips parting, and then her brows furrowed. "What were you _thinking_?"

"Well, I was thinking I hadn't planned on getting caught and that it would get Ron off my back."

A hard, sharp crack of thunder snapped outside, and he asked, "Did you know it was going to rain?" His attempt to change the subject went about as well as he expected it to. Hermione stiffened, her fingers curling around the edge of a pot until her knuckles turned into a stark white. "I had a plan, and if Ron hadn't started arguing with me, we would have been fine."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shrugged out of her jacket. "Oh? You had a plan?"

It was a bad idea to tell her, but clearly he hadn't had any good ideas lately. "The map, yeah." Before she asked for a better explanation, Harry told her. "There's a map that tells you where everyone in the school is, including the professors."

Shock flickered across her face, and her mouth dropped open. "The Marauder's Map."

"How do you..."

"I think a better question is how do _you_ have it?"

Harry began to sweep the floor and listened to heavy, falling rain as the sky opened up overhead. "My dad is one of the ones who created it. How do you know about it?"

She fidgeted with the edge of her shirt and leaned against a workbench. "Fred and George nicked it from Filch's office in their second year. I only saw it a few times when they dragged me around the castle after curfew—"

"And you're scolding me? You did the same thing!"

"When I was _fourteen_!" Her cheeks were rosy. "As far as I knew, they left it inside the castle when they graduated. How did you come across it?"

That was easy.

"Dad gave it to me before the beginning of term. Maybe the twins left it somewhere my mum would have found it?"

"Maybe," she agreed. "For the record, I don't think you should feel bad for docking points. It's definitely not a reason to get detention." Hermione turned away from him and tied up her hair as she climbed onto the workbench. "I probably should have cleaned the shelf before I cleaned the pots."

"Yeah," he replied. "Probably."

Several minutes passed, and during that time Harry managed to sweep the entirety of the section while telling himself he wasn't staring. A fact that was a lie, of course. Hermione Granger had always been interesting to him. When he'd transferred to Hogwarts unexpectedly in the middle of the last term, she'd been one of the few that hadn't been overly interested in his arrival. Though most of his classmates had been more interested in the jagged scar on his forehead than anything that actually involved him.

"You're staring again."

The _again_ knocked him slightly off-kilter, and Harry bit the inside of his cheek.

She climbed off the workbench, dust covering the fabric over her arse as she slid across the surface. "I have a question, if you don't mind."

"No, go ahead."

"The names that are at the top of the map, who are they? Which one is your father?"

"Prongs is my father. His Animagus form is a stag."

Just like Harry expected, she commented on how difficult it was to achieve being an Animagus, and he smiled—not that she saw it—when he considered telling her that they'd done it while still in school. "My Godfather is Padfoot, and Remus is Moony."

"Professor Lupin?"

"Well," he noticed her teeth dig into her bottom lip, "I call him Moony, but yeah. That's him."

From across the greenhouse in sallow light, she tilted her head to the side. "Who is Wormtail?"

The slim, weathered vase in his hands took a sudden tumble to the floor and shattered on impact. "He—" Harry choked on the words. "Wormtail betrayed my parents and led Voldemort to them. He's in Azkaban."

He'd have thought it would be impossible for her not to know, but here they were.

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea. God, I'm so—"

"It's alright," Harry managed, and tugged at his collar. "You didn't know."

Hermione looked like she might apologize again.

"But since you asked me a personal question—the map, I mean—I think it's only fair that I get to ask you one as well."

As she started to untangle vines that had crept up the wall and into the building, Hermione nodded.

"Is there a reason why you and Ron don't get on?"

She froze. "What makes you think there's a reason? Have you ever met him?"

 _That_ earned a loud laugh, and he knew he saw her smile, or at least start to. "Call it a gut feeling, but I've seen that the two of you seem to avoid each other."

"No, he avoids me." Her shoulders tensed. "I don't mind him, not really, but we haven't gotten along since our third year."

"What happened?"

"There's nothing to tell." But that was a lie, Harry could guess. "Fine, I'll tell you one thing but it's only because I know you won't leave me alone until I do."

That sounded harsh, but he supposed it was true.

She didn't look at him while picking dirt out from under her nails. "We were friends."

" _What?_ "

"Yes," she snapped. "I know that's incredibly hard to believe, but—"

Harry put his hands up. "Wait, _no_ , that wasn't meant to sound like an insult, Hermione. I just mean I didn't know. He's never mentioned it." And it sounded like the kind of thing his friend would have mentioned. Harry could remember asking about Hermione last term—out of curiosity, of course—and Ron never bothering to explain this particular fact.

Grabbing her jacket without bothering to put it on, Hermione nodded. "Well, we were up until it blew up spectacularly in my face, and that's all I'm going to tell you. It's been literally years now, and it's only going to cause a headache telling you about it now, as is since you'll no doubt ask him about it."

He was about to tell her to hang on, _just for a bloody second_ , when she reached the door. "Come on, wait—"

"Detention is over," Hermione told him. "And if I were you, I'd do my best to stay out of it. Good night, Harry".

* * *

The opportunity to talk to Hermione came three days after detention, and that wasn't for lack of trying on his end. He'd switched patrols with Michael Corner in hopes of getting the chance, but he had tragically been stuck with Draco Malfoy—the Slytherin prefect—and they'd spent the hours bickering while doling out creative insults.

It had worked to distract him from how Hermione had slipped out of seeing him, which meant she was actively avoiding him.

However, in Potions with the Slytherins on Friday, she couldn't avoid him any longer. With Ron out sick, and Edgecombe conveniently absent as well, Harry was without a partner as was Hermione. He could have thanked his mother for matching them together _just for the day,_ as it gave him the chance to talk to her. Not that Hermione made it easy.

She was suspiciously quiet, and when she did respond to him, it was through snippy replies. Not at all like the last time they had partnered together.

"I just wanted to ask about Ron," he admitted.

Half-way through a counter-clockwise turn, Hermione's wrist jerked and the cauldron spilt over them. "This is your fault!" Hermione muttered and set to cleaning herself off. "We're just lucky to be working with cold ingredients today."

Covered in things he'd rather not name, Harry didn't feel very lucky at all.

And he still didn't have any answers. Plus, his mum was staring at them, her brows furrowed in concern.

* * *

**I'd love to hear what you think! I may not be able to promise an update schedule, but your opinions do make me write faster normally!**


	2. Probably Not My Best Idea

When his dad had taken a job opportunity in Britain and his mum as well, Harry had thought it would be terrible to start all over. He'd never lived in this country, not in any capacity that he could remember at least, and to drop into the middle of term? Well, Harry had been right about it being terrible, but that had only lasted a few weeks.

Everyone knew his name, his family, and they _thought_ they knew him. Turned out the scar on his forehead would always draw attention, and at times, he wondered if that was why Ron had been so friendly in the first place. Ron was a good friend, and everyone had their flaws, but the point of his sudden train of thought was that he'd always been curious about Hermione.

She hadn't been interested in seeking him out, and she'd been a calm presence during an Arithmancy project. Not once had she ever asked him about his family history—while everyone else did exactly that—and Harry could recall asking Ron about her.

It wasn't that Ron had said a single negative thing about her, but he certainly had never mentioned being friends with her. Formerly or otherwise.

For all he'd tried, Harry couldn't think of a good reason why it bothered him so much.

In the Gryffindor common room while in the middle of a rather heated wizarding chess match—a galleon on the line this time—Harry blurted the question before he'd had the idea not to. "Were you friends with Hermione?"

Ron choked and knocked over a piece. Punctuated silence followed, and Ron was out of sorts as he set his piece back in place and righted the board, but he didn't look at Harry once; that felt like an answer all on its own. "Uh, well—" He tugged at his collar, and his shoulders fell. "Yeah, I guess we were."

The way the air shifted with the question was noticeable, stifling even, and Harry almost felt like letting it go. It wasn't something that was any of his business, really, but he had to admit that he was overly curious, so he didn't. "What happened?"

Ron's lip curled. "I assume she told you so—"

Harry shook his head. "No, she didn't. It just came up, but she told me that if I wanted to ask, I ought to ask you myself."

"She didn't say anything?"

"She looked like the mention of it made her uncomfortable, and from the looks of it… it does the same for you."

When Ron's knee knocked against the edge of the table, the pieces of their game rattled, some turning over on their sides. "We just didn't get on. She liked my brothers more than me." The hint of jealousy didn't go unnoticed, but Harry didn't comment on it. "We had a fight in the common room in our second year, and I said some things I probably shouldn't have." Red tinged his cheeks at the memory, and Harry wanted to ask him to elaborate a bit further.

"It was curious that you never mentioned it."

Ron scoffed. "Why would I? It's been ages since that happened, and if you wouldn't mind, I'd rather not talk about it."

That marked the end of the conversation, and Harry knew a couple of things. At the very least, Ron felt guilty for treating Hermione badly when they were kids. He didn't doubt that his friend had said something unpleasant—Ron _did_ have a harsh temper even if he seemed to handle it better now according to stories Harry had heard about his childhood.

He also knew that he was still curious, and clearly, that thought wouldn't be going away anytime soon.

* * *

A Hogsmeade weekend rolled around at the end of the month, and with a warning from his mother that he'd better keep himself out of detention if he wanted to go to the village, Harry pulled a knit jumper over his head before hurrying through the common room. When he exited the castle, brisk air met his face, and he shoved his hands into his pockets as he made his way down the path.

Up ahead, he could see Ron with Lavender; she practically hung off of him. Even with only seeing his back, Harry stifled a laugh at just how uncomfortable Ron looked.

He passed time by sitting with Neville and Dean in the Three Broomsticks, hardly listening as they talked about classes. But he did chime in to say that Snape was a brutal Defence teacher, and Harry wished that Remus had been able to stay on as a professor so he could have had him instead.

It was unfair that because of complaints from parents, Remus hadn't been allowed to stay on as a teacher—even though everyone who had talked about the man always said he'd been the best—due to an affliction he couldn't control. Though, Remus was likely plenty happy with the life he had now with his wife and newborn son.

From his seat Harry watched the windows, lost in his own thoughts as his friends carried on the conversation. At one point, he spotted his mother walking past, her robes seeming to float behind her as she adjusted her hat—one that his father had bought for her after mistakenly torching her last favourite—and opened her mouth to scold a couple that had been a bit _too_ close.

And he'd been happy enough to stay inside his own head until Dean's voice knocked him out his thoughts. "Do you think she's dating one of them?"

Harry's head snapped up, and he followed Dean's nod to spot Hermione walking through the door with the twins. Fred and George were consistently loud wherever they went—Harry knew from stories of them—and this was no exception. On either side of them, they had looped an arm through hers as they guided her to an empty table. "You don't think that, do you?" Harry heard himself ask, and there was a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The twins bickered over who could sit with Hermione—causing a pretty blush to tinge her cheeks—until they insisted on cramming into one side of the booth with her.

She was sandwiched between them, and while she rolled her eyes, Hermione didn't look uncomfortable at all.

"They seem pretty chummy to me." Dean shrugged. "What do you think, Neville?"

"I don't know. They've always tried to get a rise out of her by flirting with her."

Harry hadn't known that.

Neville gulped down the rest of his butterbeer. "Besides, they couldn't possibly do that if she were dating one of them. Even brothers would get jealous."

Dean arched a brow and tapped his fingers against the table as he pondered that. "Well, not that I can see her taking part in this, but what if…"

Her head fell back when she laughed, and Hermione's fingers curled around an ice-cold butterbeer that Fred pushed toward her when he returned to the table.

When no one finished Dean's thought, he huffed and said, "What if she's dating _both_ of them?"

Harry's sharp intake of breath lodged, almost solidly, in this throat, and he coughed to cover it. "What? That's..." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked to Neville for help.

Neville didn't offer any assistance in the slightest. "Triads aren't unheard of, but they're uncommon even now. I suppose if there were anyone who might be able to share a witch, it'd be those two."

It wasn't his business even if it was the case, but Harry couldn't stop the way his stomach twisted or the burn that rushed through his chest. He looked to her again, determined to spot proof that it couldn't be the case, but all he saw were Fred and George each wrapping an arm around her.

In the middle of his staring, Ron joined them, lingering at the edge of the table as he nudged Harry's shoulder. "Hey, I'm supposed to join my brothers for lunch. Want to join?"

Harry nodded quickly. At the very least, it might be a chance to please his over=eager curiosity, but it didn't surprise him when his friend faltered at the sight of Hermione with his brothers. "It's fine. I'm here anyway."

"Right." Ron snorted. "In case you've missed it, we don't necessarily get on."

 _True enough_ , Harry thought. In his short time at Hogwarts since his father took a change in his career, he had seen Ron and Hermione butt heads more than once. "I'll be a buffer. Plus your brothers are here."

"Bold of you to think that makes the situation any better." Rolling his eyes, Ron walked in front of him. "Fred. George." The greeting was less than warm.

The twins motioned for them to sit across them, seemingly content to keep Hermione sandwiched between them.

She squirmed and tried to slip out of the booth, but Harry could tell she wasn't trying particularly hard. "Fred, stop it. Let me out of this booth, or I'll shove you on your arse."

"Come on, 'Mione," he began.

"I really do have patrols still, but it was nice to see you. One of you can have my butterbeer." It was then, and only then, that Fred stood to let her by.

"What? No kiss goodbye?"

There was that familiar twisting in his stomach again.

Harry had a pretty good idea why it felt like that, but he certainly didn't want to think about it.

With her hands on her hips, Hermione tilted her head to the side as a slight curve swept across her lips. "Close your eyes."

It was all Harry could do not to make a fool of himself by making each of them notice just how uncomfortable he was.

Hermione turned to smirk at the table before hurrying past Fred.

"Unfair!" Fred called after her.

"You've done that before so you'd think you'd know that'll never work," George sniggered.

Before he could think better of it—though he probably wouldn't have if given the chance—Harry asked, "So, you and Hermione are…?"

At his side, Ron laughed. "No, they're not."

In a moment, the entire mood of the table dropped, and Harry wasn't sure how to read it.

"Yeah," Fred said, his voice flat. "I can't say I'm the Weasley who's ever had a chance of dating Hermione. Tragic, really. One bad experience, and she swears off the lot of us."

Red creeped up Ron's neck, and the pieces fell into place for Harry as to why he hadn't been willing to talk to him about Hermione at all. "Are we really going to talk about _that_ , again?"

"You said the two of you just didn't get on," Harry said, looking from the twins to Ron. "And that she liked your brothers better than you. Am I missing something?"

"Just the whole story. Nothing big, you know." Fred snorted. "And it didn't happen that way."

"We _did_ have a fight in second year, thanks," Ron snarked. "And like I told you," he looked to Harry, "I admitted I said some things I shouldn't have.

Fred nodded. "I'll say. Actually, Ron probably didn't tell you the full story, but I'll admit he told the truth with what he did say."

"Yeah," George cut in. "He must have forgotten to mention that he was jealous and that he fancied Hermione when they were twelve."

While Harry wouldn't have thought it possible, Ron's face grew even redder. "Like you said, I was _twelve,_ and she _did_ spend an awful lot of time with you two."

Harry couldn't stand the back and forth anymore, as interesting as it was. "What was the fight about?"

Ron didn't say a word.

Fortunately for Harry, and unfortunately for Ron, his brothers did. "He told Hermione that she shouldn't have bothered asking him if he had plans for an upcoming Yule Ball—which it's a surprise the second years were allowed to go, but nevermind that—because she'd rather paw at his brothers."

"Those _were_ your exact words, weren't they?" George asked. "Hermione was humiliated."

His friend rubbed his temples. "Yeah, I was a shithead. Now, do you see why I didn't want to talk about it?"

"Too bad Hermione didn't have that opportunity. People teased her for weeks." Fred snarked.

Harry had to wonder if it didn't still come up sometimes. "Did you ever apologize to her, at least?"

Ron shook his head. "By the time she would talk to me, it'd been so long that I thought bringing it up would make it worse."

"You should have apologised," Harry said. No wonder Hermione hadn't wanted to tell him herself. It was embarrassing.

Shortly after that, Ron left to meet Lavender, leaving Harry with the twins.

"So, Harry," they chorused. "Why are you so curious about Hermione?"

* * *

After a lengthy interrogation by two matching faces, Harry managed to escape the Three Broomsticks, and he found Hermione on her nightly rounds on the seventh floor. "I've been looking for you. The twins brought you something for your birthday and didn't get the chance to give it to you."

Her brow furrowed, and her fingers brushed his as she took the small, foil-wrapped gift from his hands. "Thank you. I probably should have stayed."

"I'm sure it's awkward."

"I'm assuming Ron told you then."

"Well," Harry kicked the floor and shoved his hands into his pockets, ", the twins did. Ron left some parts out, but I think I know why he did. I know that he didn't apologise to you—and he should have—but I think he—"

"Feels bad?" she interrupted him. "Yeah, I know he does. We were kids, and kids say shitty things."

Not once had he heard her curse, and it took him by surprise. "So, you fancied him, then?"

A loud, feminine laugh echoed in the corridor. "You know, I'm not sure I ever really did, but apparently I thought I did."

Harry wanted to think that it wasn't relief that rushed through him, but he knew that would have been a lie. "I wanted to apologize too, again, for detention."

"It wasn't all bad, but please," she laughed again, "don't do it again."

He nodded.

Hermione turned away from him, but then she paused. "Also, you know not to eat anything they give you, right?"

Harry blinked.

"The twins, I mean."

At that moment, his stomach gurgled, and Harry sighed.

* * *

It was always a good day when he got to see Sirius, and he hadn't seen him since a week before the start of term. Grateful for an exception to return to Hogsmeade on Sunday afternoon, Harry yanked his mum into a tight hug before rushing down to the village.

Sirius met him in the Hog's Head with a tumbler of amber liquid sloshing from side to side and watched Harry slide into the opposite side of the booth. "Prongs wanted to be here, but there's a, uh, thing."

Harry snorted. "It's alright. Dad's been busy since the move, and I'll owl him later tonight. How are you?" There was a new cut above Sirius' brow, and Harry pointed it out.

"Oh, this?" Sirius grinned. "Just a gash, but I let it heal the Muggle way this time. Some birds happen to like scars."

"I don't think that applies to the face, Sirius. Plus, it makes me think of Mad-Eye Moody."

There was a faint grumble about finding a healing salve at home. "How are you settling in this year? Any pretty witches I should know about?"

It was the same question Sirius always asked, but this time Harry hesitated. "Uh, the term is going well."

Sirius took a long drink, looking every bit a sceptic. "Lily mentioned you got detention last week. Care to tell me what that was about?"

"Ron and I were searching for the secret passage you told me about. It didn't go very well. I ended up making myself and the Head Girl get detention."

His godfather watched him, tilting his head to the side and smiling. "You scratched the back of your neck when you mentioned the Head Girl."

"What?"

The grin on Sirius' face only widened as he leaned forward, threading his fingers together over the surface of the table, a Black signet ring glinting beneath the low light. "Everyone has a tell, pup. Even _you_."

Harry could have backtracked, but he lifted his chin instead. "Her name is Hermione and…" He hesitated, but this was Sirius. No one else was around to overhear the admission. "I think I might fancy her, but I don't think she's interested."

"Have you tried asking her to marry you? It worked for your father." Sirius laughed under his breath. "You said the two of you had detention. How was that?"

"We talked," Harry replied, dragging his nail across a crack in the wood tabletop. "And I like that she doesn't care about who I am or the scar on my forehead."

Sirius' features softened. "If the tone of your voice is anything to go by, you sound like you really do fancy her."

"Well, yeah," Harry muttered. "Still don't think she's interested though."

"With that attitude, she never will be," Sirius said with a responding laugh. "If your father had given up that easily, you wouldn't be sitting in front of me now."

Harry slumped in his seat. He thought about telling Sirius about Hermione and Ron, and the history there, but it wasn't entirely relevant at the moment. "I don't know what to do then."

Sirius waved for another drink, flashing a coy smile. "You mentioned the two of you talked while you were in detention. Maybe you ought to do something that puts you back into detention. After all, it worked the first time."

He thought back to telling Hermione that he wouldn't do it again, but right then, Sirius' advice sounded good.

* * *

The plan was simple enough, Harry thought. In the days that had passed since visiting with Sirius—three to be exact—he'd mulled over the ways to get them into trouble without Hermione noticing. Plus he had to make sure she couldn't stop it before he got started.

It wasn't the simplest task in the world.

Typically, the Head Girl was meant to patrol with the Head Boy, but Corner was frequently busy. And from the way she spoke of the boy, Hermione wasn't too upset about it either.

"Great," she muttered. "Now we're the ones out after curfew, and if Filch catches us, he won't care about the badge on my robes."

Harry pushed his glasses up. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Do you have the map? You could see if there are any teachers near us."

"You _want_ me to help you avoid trouble?"

She huffed. "I just think it would be a nice change instead of getting into trouble."

Unfortunately, he didn't have the map, and Hermione's mood slipped even lower. "Professor McGonagall isn't patrolling tonight. If we run into anyone, it'll be Filch or Professor Snape."

They made it most of the way back to the Gryffindor common room without trouble, though his whispered questions about her day only served to earn her ire. However, as it was his luck to have only bad luck, they heard impending footsteps around the corner.

Hermione hissed under her breath, and before she could out them, Harry pulled her into a nearby broom cupboard. "Be quiet," he whispered.

She twitched, her lip curling. "This is a terrible idea. Can you imagine how it'll look if we're caught in a bloody—"

It was the only thing he could think of to make her be quiet. It wasn't because he'd had an unhealthy fixation with her mouth for the past two weeks.

Harry tilted her chin up and caught the sudden widening of her eyes before his lips slanted over hers. It was barely a kiss, really, not in the way he knew he wanted to kiss her, but Hermione froze against him.

But then her fingers curled in the front of his robes, and he _thought_ she was about to kiss him back.

The door swung open, and Snape stared down at them. "Mr Potter," he sighed. "Why is it always you? Detention for both of you tomorrow in my classroom." Just as quickly as he'd made himself known, Snape walked away, leaving Harry baffled.

"He isn't going to dock points?" he wondered out loud. "Oh, God, he's going to tell my _mother_." Professors talk, didn't they?

Fingers dug into his shoulder, and Hermione walloped him the back of his head. "Your mum is about to be the _least_ of your problems!"

"No offence—you are perfectly terrifying when you're angry, like right now—but I don't think you've met my mother when she's properly angry."

" _No offence,"_ she mocked. "But you've definitely never met me when I'm properly angry. Have you ever been attacked by a flock of birds?"

Harry cleared his throat at the thought of that particular spell. "No."

"Would you like to be?"

"No."

Hermione threw her hands up. "Six years without detention! Six minutes with you and I'm in detention for days!"

"To be fair, I think it may have been more than six minutes."

Her eyes narrowed. "And then you just kiss me! Honestly, who gets detention for kissing a stranger?"

As Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, he said, "Um, you?"

"And what would you do if some random girl wrapped her arms around you and kissed you?"

Harry grinned wickedly. "If it was you? Kiss back."

Hermione spluttered as she escaped the cupboard, but not before he could hear her growl, "Harry _fucking_ Potter," under her breath.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I love Ron as a character. If you're looking for bashing, then this is probably not the fic for you. People grow out of the mean things they do or say, especially when they're children.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Until next time.


	3. For Every Step Forward

**Worked on this a bit this week, hope you enjoy! If not, you don't have to tell me.**

* * *

By the time breakfast arrived the next morning, his mother pulled him aside before he entered the Great Hall. With her hat poised just slightly off-kilter, Professor Potter—or mum, as he liked to call her—folded her arms over her chest and peered down at him. There were wrinkles where the corner of her mouth twitched, and despite that, Harry knew that she really wasn't amused. "Would you like to tell me why you have detention for…" she pinched the bridge of her nose, something Harry had seen her do when his father up to his antlers in his own antics. "Canoodling, I believe is what was said?"

"Ah," Harry sucked in a breath. "You talked to Snape, then. Well, you know, you really can't trust a word that comes out of his—"

Eyes that mirrored his sharpened. "You're to address him as _Professor_ Snape, Harry and I won't tolerate any ill behavior, either. I'm quite confident that what he told me was the truth."

Unfortunately, he'd hoped his mother wouldn't find out, but luck wasn't on his side today. "It was an accident. Granger—Hermione, I mean, didn't actually want to snog me."

Lily's nostrils flared. "I'd suggest you explain yourself quickly then, or you'll be in detention scrubbing cauldrons until your fingers shrivel up into nubs."

 _Okay,_ now that he thought about it, he did realize just how bad that sounded. "I was trying to talk to Hermione, and it was past curfew. We were patrolling, you see and lost track of the time. When we heard footsteps, I pulled her into a broom cupboard—"

"Naturally," came a sigh. "Did you have any idea how poorly that would reflect on both of you?"

"It's funny, that's exactly what she said too. I heard footsteps, so I tried to make her be quiet so we _wouldn't_ get caught and I think you know the rest."

"I see."

He held his hands up, a bit of a display when it came to surrendering, and slowly lowered them when she didn't laugh. "I'm sorry, Mum."

"I think you ought to apologize to Miss Granger the first chance you get, Harry. She's never had detention in her time here, and now you've managed to land her in it not once, but _twice."_

Harry nodded. "I will, I promise."

She reached for the large handle of the door, and glanced down at him again "And for my peace of mind, please stop getting detention." It was said with a bit of playfulness, and the crinkle beside her eyes returned.

* * *

He didn't get a chance to talk to Hermione, and it wasn't for lack of trying. They shared a handful of classes together—Defence, Potions, and Charms—and no matter what he did, she successfully evaded him at every turn.

And when there had been a chance he might catch up to her, she cast a charm toward his shoes that caused the laces to come undone before tying themselves to the opposite shoe.

She was a bit of a nightmare, Ron reckoned but Harry could say that it had only drawn his attention more.

There was a word for that.

Masochism?

Either way, he still wanted to talk to her, and he wanted to know what that spell was too.

Luckily, she wouldn't be able to avoid him when it came to detention unless she had somehow convinced Snape to let her serve her time separately, which Harry wouldn't have put past her. Because of that thought, he sighed in relief when he saw her as he slipped into the dungeons.

Snape was nowhere in sight. It was strange, Harry thought. He would have expected the professor to be right there to oversee the two of them, and since he _wasn't_ here, it meant that Harry might have a chance to talk to her.

She answered his question before he asked. "Professor Snape had other duties to attend to. He assured me that he will still be watching us, and if we stop scrubbing cauldrons for any reason, he will know and we will have to do this for a week." Her tone was bitter, lower than normal, too. "I'd rather not spend the rest of my week doing this, so if you could pick up a brush and get to work, that would be splendid."

Not only was she mad, but Hermione was also furious.

Harry did exactly as she said, and began at the end of the shelf. He watched her, realizing that he'd have to go back over the ones he'd already done when he saw that he forgot to scrub the inside overhang of the cauldron.

"Could you stop staring at me?"

Warmth flooded his face. Merlin, he wasn't inconspicuous at all, was he? "Uh—sorry." Minutes passed, and he finally worked up the nerve to open his mouth again, but he didn't stop scrubbing for fear she'd spell his hands to the cauldron. "Hermione, I'm really sorry."

She paused, and her shoulders tensed.

"I know that I shouldn't have kissed you like that, and I shouldn't have pushed you into the broom cupboard either."

For a moment as he was saying it, he wondered if she would say anything at all, or if she would remain quiet. "I can't tell if you're really that apologetic."

It was true that he'd enjoyed kissing her, and that he'd happily do it again, given the chance but he didn't say that. "I didn't have your permission, and it was wrong of me to press myself onto you."

Hermione nodded. "Yeah." It wasn't until she finished scrubbing the bottom of her current cauldron that she looked at him. "Did you tell anyone?"

He shook his head. "I won't, either."

"Thank you for that, and for your apology."

"I'm sorry that I promised not to get you into detention again, and then I did it anyway." There was the fact that he'd really done it on purpose, but he left that out. It wasn't something he intended to do again, not with how angry he'd made her.

And he really did feel badly too.

"It's boring in here, yeah?" Harry said. "Fancy a game to pass the time?"

Hermione pinned him with a look and nodded toward the cauldrons.

"A game that will allow us to still clean, lest the bat of the dungeons sweeps down on our heads." Harry was delighted to see her grin, even though she tried to hide it behind a curtain of curls. "For every question I ask you, you can ask me one." It was more of a game for him, he supposed, since he wanted to get to know her. Besides, if he didn't make some traction tonight, he thought he might not get an easy chance to talk to her again.

Slowly, she agreed. "You can start if you like since you're younger."

"How do you know that?"

"That counts as a question."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, everyone knows how old Harry Potter is. One of the first things I learned about upon learning I was a witch was You-Know-Who and well, you. If you didn't know, there were several books written about you and your family."

"You read about _me_?" He'd stopped scrubbing as dutifully.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I read about the war, thank you. It happened to involve you, and your birth date was mentioned several times."

"Oh, yeah, since a baby killed Voldemort and all that rot." If he'd looked away like he normally did when it came to this topic, he'd have missed the stricken look that passed over her face. He would have missed the way her hand fell limply to her side. "What is it?"

"You said the name."

His lips parted. "Have you never heard it?"

"No one says it, even now. From what I've gathered, they're still afraid of the taboo that was once placed on it. It's like they're afraid he'll appear even now." Hermione didn't say whether she was also afraid, but from the way her posture didn't change, he didn't think that was the case.

"Well," he feigned casual. "If he pops up in here, I guess I'll just have to kill him all over again." From the second it left his mouth, it sounded much harsher than he'd meant for it to, and it was a loaded statement.

The word _kill_ chilled him, even if the signs of that weren't recognizable.

She moved on from the topic though, and he would have thanked her if it wouldn't have dredged it back up again. "What do you miss the most about America?"

"Cheeseburgers."

Hermione laughed. "Really?"

"If you ever have one from there, you'll understand."

"I've visited New York a few times with my parents. They always stay in the same hotel, and there's a diner just down the street. I swear, they have the best cheeseburgers. If you ever go back, you'll have to try them."

Harry tapped his fingers to his chin. "What's your favorite class here?"

"Charms," she replied. "Yours?"

"Defence." There was an irritating spot that wouldn't come off the edge and he wondered if Snape had made sure it wouldn't come off.

"Do you think you've taken after your father, then? Considering he's the Head Auror now." Pretty white teeth bit into the plush of her lower lip and she rolled her eyes. The two reactions didn't seem to go together. "What? I read."

Chuckling under his breath, Harry nodded. "Yeah, I guess I did take after him."

"How was it, living in the States? Do you miss it?"

He could have pointed out that it was technically _his_ turn to ask the question, but he didn't. As it was, Hermione seemed more than willing to talk to him, and he was perfectly fine with that. "Not much. We travelled while Mum obtained her mastery up until I was seven. Plus, I've never gotten on well with children my age either."

Hermione snorted. "You could have fooled me."

"That's only because everyone here wanted to befriend the Boy Who Lived," Harry held up two fingers from each hand. "They were more interested in my scar than my company. I accidentally spoke to snakes in my first year, and that dashed any hopes to be considered…normal."

Not far from him now—perhaps only a couple of steps—Hermione blinked. "Are you referring to parseltongue?"

He wished he hadn't said anything. "Uh, just forget it. Really, I shouldn't have—"

Up so close, Harry thought her eyes might be twinkling. "That's incredibly interesting. I've always wondered what it would be like, since the books don't describe it accurately. Did you know that the only other wizard who could speak to snakes in recent times was—" Hermione stopped short, her cheeks flaming. "Oh, ignore me. That was so careless, I can't believe I _said_ that."

Before he could think twice about it, Harry brushed her arm. "It's fine. I thought the fact would bother you."

She didn't look like she quite believed him.

"And yes, I know it was Voldemort."

Hermione nodded, and sighed as she looked at the nearly finished row of cauldrons. "There are more in the supply closet, Professor Snape said. He'll be shocked with what we've finished already. I don't think he expected us to actually finish. I suppose if we didn't, he'd make us come back tomorrow night."

"Yeah, it's a shame that didn't happen," Harry muttered, and she didn't catch the words he'd spoken, just that he'd said something at all. "You know what, I think it's more of a shame that we won't have another night of detention."

Her hands dropped away from the cauldron, and she blinked. Once and then twice and then he didn't even know why he was counting in the first place. "Pardon? I thought we agreed that detention wasn't the best use of our time. As Head girl and a prefect for Gryffindor—"

Harry figured that he was in the thick of it now; he might as well follow through with it. "In case you've missed it, I like talking to you."

Hermione was silent then, and she didn't make a move to continue cleaning. "You don't have to land me in detention to talk to me. You could just— _I don't know—_ talk to me like a normal human being."

It was something he had thought of, but Harry hadn't bothered to follow through on acting on it. If the past few days had taught him anything, he supposed it was that Sirius' idea had not been the most solid of advice.

"And," she added quietly. "I happen to like talking to you too, when you're not making an arse out of yourself that is."

He grinned. "Yeah?"

Hair tumbled over her shoulder and she looked away from him, which was an answer in itself. "You should finish scrubbing before he comes back."

Harry took a step to the left, his hip bumping into hers. "I think it's my turn for another question."

She hummed.

"Are you dating anyone right now?" Straight-forward, that was the best way to ask, and he thought the answer might be the one he had hoped against when she didn't reply immediately.

"I'm not," she finally said. "I don't see why that would interest you, but I've not dated many wizards. Are you going to ask how many now?"

He hadn't planned on it. "Not unless you want to tell me."

When she glanced up at him that time, he knew for sure that her eyes were indeed twinkling. "I'm only telling you this because I think your reaction will be entertaining."

"As good a reason as any other,"

"In fourth year, I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum."

He very nearly dropped the cauldron.

Hermione, quick as ever, levitated it with a muttered incantation. "Shocking, isn't it?" She said then, carefully setting the cauldron back in its place. "Everyone else seemed to think so."

There was a poster in his bedroom of Viktor Krum.

He felt like owling his father to tear it down.

"No," Harry managed. "I can see why he asked."

Pink tinged her cheeks. "My turn," her voice was higher, a fact that caused his stomach to give a useless somersault. "Did you kiss me for a particular reason, or was that solely your best idea to keep me quiet?"

He had an answer. Really, Harry absolutely had an answer for that, but down to the core, he was a coward in the moment, so he didn't say anything at all.

Hermione was brilliant though, and he was sure she already had it figured out.

"Don't kiss me randomly again. You need permission for that, okay?"

She said he needed permission.

She hadn't said that he would never be able to get permission.

Harry grinned. "Okay."

* * *

On Saturday morning—more accurately known to Harry as the day after he realized he _might_ have a chance with Hermione Granger—Harry was in a better mood than he'd been in all week. That wasn't to say he hadn't been in a good mood anyway, but the lift in his spirits was noticeable by his teammates who decidedly did not share his mood. Considering they were in the Quidditch pitch at a daunting 5:30 in the morning, that was probably fair.

Still, there was a match against Slytherin to be won in a matter of hours, and a last minute practice had been called.

He would have liked to say that he'd been able to pay attention, but Harry flew as well as he always did by relying on instinct—and he conveniently avoided the moment where he almost rammed one of his teammates.

It would have worked out if Ron had let it slide, but as soon as everyone else was out of the Quidditch showers, luck was not in Harry's favors. "You almost clobbered my sister," Ron said with no real ire, for Ginny would have been just fine, and she would probably just get even with him later. "It's too early to be in such a good mood. What is it?"

Harry shrugged. "I had a good night."

In hindsight, he had not expected for his friend to put the pieces together so quickly. "A good night? I thought you had detention." Red brows drew together before rising as it clicked into place. "You're in a good mood because of Hermione?" At the very least, the tone he'd used before when it came to her was gone.

"We're friends," Harry said. "And because we're friends, I don't want to be forced to choose between the two of you, so maybe you could…apologize for being such a prat."

Ron didn't laugh, which felt like a slight improvement over what Harry had expected. Which, it was possible too that he'd expected too little of his friend. "You fancy her!"

"Bloody hell, could you say that any louder? I don't think the entire school heard you that time!"

Muttering a sheepish apology, Ron said that he would do his best to do what Harry had asked him to do, too.

* * *

After a week, his mum was pleased to know her son has thankfully avoided any more bouts of detention. Harry was sure that Hermione was just as pleased about it.

He caught her eyes in the corridors, and in the classes they shared. It was inevitable, it seemed, that he found himself staring at her when prefects gathered for meetings. If she noticed it—Hermione _must_ have noticed—she didn't say anything. In fact, Harry could count ten fingers how many times she'd met his gaze.

It probably said something about him that he had kept track.

Reminded that she had said he could just give simply talking to her a try, Harry set out to do exactly that on Thursday morning. In the time between Defence and Divination, he managed to catch up to her in the corridor. "Hermione!" She didn't give any indication that she'd heard him as she pressed through the small crowd of people, clutching a Potions text close to her chest.

Just as he opened his mouth to call out again to the irritation of Ron beside him, Ron said, "Could you be any louder, mate?"

Well, probably but that wasn't the point.

The point was that while Ron was talking, Harry saw a leg shoot out in front of Hermione.

She fell _hard_ , parchment scattering as she did and the text in her hands fell, landing open faced on the stone. Students around them stopped, and Hermione froze for a moment while staring at her hands where she caught herself. Harry watched her stand with her chin lifted as she dusted off her palms, but even from where he stood, he could see a thin line of blood trickling down the inside of her hand.

Goyle stood off to the side, smirking and it only made his fattened cheeks appear even larger.

He probably would have made a comment about her status as a Muggleborn, but Harry popped the spell off before Goyle got the chance. " _Levicorpus!"_ Harry ripped his wand upward through the air and the boy was trussed in a similar fashion, yanked up by one ankle.

Hermione whirled around, and there wasn't an ounce of gratitude on her face as he had hoped there would be. Rather than that, she looked absolutely furious as she gathered her things with a swish of her wand. She'd been about to speak to him, and there had been a cruel twist to her mouth when Snape appeared.

If she looked angry, he looked murderous. While dismantling the spell and lowering Goyle back onto his feet, Snape laid into him.

Hermione was gone before Snape managed one sentence.


End file.
